


Intended Recipient

by bibliosexual



Series: Tumblr fic [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dildos, Embarrassment, M/M, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliosexual/pseuds/bibliosexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From KuriKuri's <a href="http://authorkurikuri.tumblr.com/post/112173164975/all-those-sex-toy-prompts-you-probably-didnt-need">prompt</a>, "you’re my neighbor, but the UPS guy keeps delivering your packages to me and wow, you buy a lot of sex toys"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intended Recipient

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [my tumblr](http://bibliosexualll.tumblr.com/post/122383462211/intended-recipient).

In the short time since Derek Hale moved in next door, Stiles has learned some valuable life lessons.

For example: Do not open mysterious packages left on your doorstep without first checking that they’re really addressed to you. There are some things in life that Stiles will never unsee, and a 10-inch glittery blue dildo with a knot at the base is one of them.

Stiles has also learned that if you really must open mysterious packages left on your doorstep, you shouldn’t wait until all of your friends and your dad and your dad’s new girlfriend are over for dinner.

It’s been two months, and Erica still cackles and makes obscene finger gestures every time she sees him.

Of course, Erica being Erica, that’s not too out of the ordinary. What’s much, much worse is the awkward safe sex talk from his dad and the judgey looks he still gets from Boyd. Emphatically explaining that he  _did not order that, holy god_ , was no use. Isaac just rolled his eyes, while Scott patted him on the back and said, “You don’t have to be ashamed of your kinks with us, man. We still love you.”

The bright side to all of this is that Stiles doesn’t have to look Derek Hale in the eye when he delivers the packages to his porch. Derek’s apparently some kind of recluse. He never opens his door when Stiles knocks, so Stiles has never actually seen him. 

The first time, Stiles thought this was probably because Derek had realized his mistake and wanted to save everyone involved a bit of embarrassment. But by now Stiles knows better. Derek obviously has no idea Stiles is so well acquainted with his mail. It’s not something Stiles really understands. If he were ordering giant dildos off the internet, he’d be ultra-paranoid about making sure no one else saw.

Although, he is kinda curious to know what kind of person buys seventeen sex toys in the span of two months.

*

“What if he’s a dirty, creepy old man?”

Scott sighs into his soup. “I don’t get why it matters who he is. Just give him his stuff and forget about it.”

“Uh, have you met me? I can’t just ‘forget about it.’ No normal person buys that many dildos, Scott.”

“No normal person talks about dildos this much in public,” Scott retorts, and okay, so maybe they have been getting a few dirty looks from people at neighboring tables. So what.

“What if he’s running a bordello out of his house?” Stiles muses. “Or what if he makes porn for a living? Or tests dildos for manufacturers. Or, ooh, maybe he’s an artist doing some sort of weird penis sculpture. His whole house could be a shrine to dildos.”

“I don’t want to know,” Scott says, and that right there is the chief difference between them.

Derek Hale is a mystery, which is exactly what he shouldn’t be if he wants any privacy from Stiles.

*

The facts are these:

He never seems to have any visitors.

He doesn’t have any pets, either, unless it’s, like, a goldfish.

He’s let all the potted plants on his porch die, though, which doesn’t bode well for any potential goldfishes.

He doesn’t mow his lawn.

He drives a sex-on-wheels car (a black Camaro), which is a point against him being a creepy eighty-year-old man. Unless it was a midlife-crisis impulse buy.

Stiles never sees him coming and going to work. Maybe he’s an undercover agent who only leaves the house at 3 in the morning. That would at least explain why he needs so many dildos. No time for relationships when you’re off saving the world from the forces of evil.

He doesn’t have a Facebook, as far as Stiles can tell, and Stiles is the master of internet stalking.

And, frustratingly enough, he keeps all the curtains on his windows drawn, so Stiles can’t IRL stalk him, either.

Misdelivered dildos aside, Derek Hale is frustratingly good at being a mystery.

*

The eighteenth dildo is the last straw.

It’s 2 AM on Friday night. Stiles has spent the last three and a half hours at the Jungle, dancing like crazy with Scott and Allison and getting flirted with by all of zero people before finally admitting to himself that he wasn’t really having fun anymore. His alcohol buzz is fading, his skinny jeans are practically glued to his legs with sweat (and the tequila sunrise Scott accidentally spilled on his lap), and in general Stiles is about 300% done with tonight.

His porch light is out–something he’s been meaning to fix for a few weeks now–and he almost brains himself tripping over the box on his doorstep in the dark.

So Stiles grabs the box and marches straight over to Derek’s house.

Who cares if it’s 2 in the morning, Stiles shouldn’t have to put up with this indignity. He’s had it up to  _here_ with Derek Hale.

Derek’s car is parked neatly in his driveway, so Stiles knows he’s home, okay, and he’s not going to back down without a fight. Not this time. By god, he will not be reduced to his neighbor’s dildo deliveryman.

He’s prepared to wait him out, just camp out on the guy’s porch until imminent starvation forces Derek to make a run for it.

So admittedly he’s a little flabbergasted when the door opens on the third knock.

“What?” demands the guy who must be Derek. God, Stiles sure hopes this is Derek, because  _damn_.

He’s … Well. All of Stiles’ theories about secret agents and porn stars go flying right out the window. He has sharp, pale eyes and killer cheekbones, but he’s also in a bathrobe and bunny slippers, running a hand through his spiky hair and blinking adorably like something just startled him out of a dream.

… Which is totally within the realm of possibility, considering it’s 2 AM. Stiles winces.

Derek crosses his arms over his chest. It would look much more intimidating if his sleeves weren’t fuzzy and so long his hands disappear inside them. He looks like a grumpy kid who woke up with stubble one day.

“Are you going to say anything or are you just going to stare at me?” he demands.

Stiles opens his mouth to start in on the rant he’d composed in his head.

Derek raises his (magnificent) eyebrows, like,  _Well?_

Nothing. Silence.

It’s just– it’s cute, okay? His neighbor in bunny-slippers is cute. And, among other things, a lifetime of being besties with Scott has taught Stiles that he is physically incapable of staying mad in this sort of situation. A cuteness situation. He inevitably just deflates like a sad balloon.

“Uh, nothing. Here’s your, uh, your thing.” Stiles fumbles the package at Derek and leaves before he can do something stupid like rub his face in the guy’s chest, or hug him.

He spends the rest of the night berating himself for it and maybe just possibly jerking off in the shower.

The unfairest thing about the whole situation is that the bunny slippers aren’t even a turn-off. And Stiles has a pretty vivid mental picture of all the things Derek might be doing–at this very moment, even–with his dildos.

It’s possible Stiles is a little obsessed.

*

Stiles marches up to Derek’s porch with Dildo Number 19 in a state of righteous indignation.

“I  _know_ you know these are going to the wrong address,” Stiles starts in as soon as the door opens. Derek’s in a leather jacket today instead of the bathrobe and bunny slippers, which makes it a whole lot easier not to cave like last time. Then again, the tips of Derek’s ears are starting to turn pink, which is unfortunately also pretty adorable. “There’s no way you don’t know. I mean, maybe with the first seventeen you’ve got some plausible deniability here, but you saw me bring over the last one. So why are these ridiculous dildos still coming to my house?”

“It’s not a dildo,” Derek mutters in lieu of an actual answer. “It’s a spatula.”

“Oh, right. A  _spatula_.” Stiles can’t resist rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’ve seen what’s in some of these packages, and buddy, let me tell you, those definitely do not qualify as spatulas. Oh god, unless– you don’t, like, try to flip pancakes with your dildos, do you? Because I am never eating anything you cook, ever.”

Derek stares at him like he’s still trying to process that mental image. Stiles gets that reaction a lot.

And then a dark-haired woman with intense blue-green eyes is coming up behind Derek to rest her chin curiously on his shoulder, and oh. Okay. It’s not like Stiles really thought he had a chance here, but he still can’t help slumping a little in disappointment.

“Ooh,” she coos, eyes darting down to the package in Stiles’ hands, “baby bro, is this Hot Neighbor Guy?”

Which, what?

Derek elbows her in the stomach, eyes widening comically. “Shut up, Laura!”

But she just grins at Stiles, sharklike, and calls over her brother’s shoulder, “He keeps ordering random junk to your address so he can talk to you, only then he’s too chicken-shit to come to the door when you knock!”

“ _Laura_ –”

“What? I’m doing you a favor, little bro. He’s obviously into you, too.”

“No, he isn’t–”

“Oh my god, are you  _blind_? Do you  _see_ the way he’s looking at you right now?”

Stiles would be embarrassed, but, well. Derek totally has the hots for him. It’s hard to feel anything but elation in the face of news like that.

Derek slips out onto the porch and not-so-subtly closes the door in Laura’s face. “Uh, thanks for bringing the package. So, I’ll just …”

He tugs on it, but Stiles doesn’t let go. “So I’ve been trying to figure out, what is it you do, anyway?”

“I’m a writer,” Derek says.

“Of erotica?” Stiles guesses knowingly. “That totally explains the dildos.”

Derek’s blush gets impossibly deeper. “Of historical nonfiction. And it was just two dildos. The rest was–”

“‘Random junk’?” Stiles quotes, smirking.

Derek nods.

Stiles drops the package and steps in a little closer. Gratifyingly, Derek sucks in a breath and doesn’t move away.

“‘Hot Neighbor Guy’ … Your words or Laura’s?”

Derek glances down at Stiles’ mouth. “Mine, uh, more or less.”

“GOD, JUST KISS ALREADY!” Laura yells through the door.

Derek groans and hides his face in Stiles’ shoulder.

And, well, his neck is  _right there_ , so Stiles just goes for it, turning his head and brushing his lips under Derek’s ear in a nuzzling little kiss. “You know,” he whispers, “my house is Laura-free, if you wanted to come over for coffee … or something.”

“Yeah?” Derek says, pulling back.

Stiles laces their fingers. “Yeah.”


End file.
